


When the Trees Sing, Dilly, Dilly, You’ll Be My King

by Catsintheattic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Courtship, Danger, Family, Family Secrets, Gen, Meet the Family, Plants, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-08
Updated: 2009-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsintheattic/pseuds/Catsintheattic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is more to the Malfoy gardens than meets the eye. For Narcissa, the annual family gathering turns into a life-threatening situation. And, even to a pure-blood girl, marriage might be about more than family alliances, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Trees Sing, Dilly, Dilly, You’ll Be My King

Narcissa felt like running away. It was time for _that_ visit again. The Blacks had been visiting the Malfoys for more summers than Narcissa could remember. Therefore, on a lovely Sunday morning in July of 1966, on the order of their mother, the three Black sisters put on their best dresses and accompanied her to Malfoy Manor. Cygnus Black preferred to be absent on these occasions, feigning that he had to attend an important meeting at the Ministry.

Narcissa wished she could accompany him. She’d only been at the Ministry of Magic once, several years ago, when her father had to stop by while he was taking his sleepy six-year-old home from a long trip on Diagon Alley. Despite her tiredness, she had enjoyed the creepy feeling of the corridors, cradled high and protected in her father’s arms and certain from the sound of his boots on the stone floor that he owned the place.

A smile played across Narcissa’s lips. What a baby she had been! Now almost eleven and ready to go to Hogwarts in autumn, she knew, of course, that her father didn’t own the Ministry. But she still would have preferred not to visit the Malfoys. Andy and Bella would act all grown up, assuming the stiff, formal manners the Black girls were only allowed to drop during the summer, when there were no official gatherings, and Narcissa would have to act like a little lady – something her mother reminded her of every other day. She didn’t mind the pretty dresses and the cakes, but rather wished that ladies were allowed to skip and run and get their hair tangled in the process.

But worst of all was Lucius, the Malfoys’ only son and heir to the family fortune. At thirteen he was about to enter his third year at Hogwarts. Attending school had done nothing to hone his manners in the last two years, and Narcissa harboured no illusions that this summer would be any different. 

From the first day they had met, Lucius had set his goal on teasing Narcissa as soon their mothers’ backs were turned. Children too young for Hogwarts were placed in hearing distance to the adults’ table, under the watchful eyes of a house-elf. Ignoring Andy’s protest and commandeering the house-elves to his every whim, he had managed to reduce Narcissa to helpless tears of humiliation and anger more than once. And while Andy was always ready to console Narcissa and hide her until she had got herself back together, Bella was proud to sit with the adults. Besides, she would have been only too willing to point out Narcissa’s lack of strength to their mother. And for all her taste for adventure, Narcissa knew that when that one day sometime in the future came, and Lucius asked for one of the girls’ hand in marriage, that they would have to accept with a graceful little bow and a tilt of their neck. It was easier for Bella to joke about it, for she was older, and men preferred their women to look up to them. For Andy and her, Lucius posed an undeniable threat.

But the visit couldn’t be avoided. The Floo Network took them right to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, where a house-elf crouched low on its knees to brush the soot from their shoes and to polish them back to shine, while the mistress of the Manor greeted them with her usual air of elegance and amiability.

Cassiopeia Malfoy led them through the manor and down the terrace into the garden, where a rich assortment of cakes, pasties and fruit had been laid out on silver platters and white drapes. She gestured for them to sit down, and Lucius, who was clad in elegant white against the blazing sun, played the perfect little host. He first helped Narcissa’s mother and Mrs Malfoy into their chairs and then attended to the three young witches, Narcissa being the last. She tried to sit down as elegantly as her mother and sisters, but had to hasten when Lucius bumped the back of her knees with the chair. The cups were made of china so thin that they sizzled when the tea was poured into them. Narcissa picked her cup up lightly, promptly burned her fingers and hastened to put it back on its saucer. She glanced over at Lucius. Of course, he had noticed and smirked into his cup. Not a single drop of sweat stood on his forehead and he was perfectly groomed. She _hated_ him.

The conversation was dragging and Narcissa schooled her face into a mask of polite interest, while she tried to taste as many different cakes as she could without getting scolded. Her thoughts drifted back home, where her collection of Chocolate Frog Cards awaited her. Naturally, it was no ordinary collection, but the Silver Edition for the Young Witch, from the Cool Summer Chocolate Frogs ( _they melt in your mouth, not on your hands!_ ). It featured famous wizards and witches who had all done something extraordinary for the education of young witches. Some of them were a little prosy, but Narcissa could never get enough of Gibwitt Lockhart, who had invented a memory charm for those poor traumatised youths who had come across a Muggle. He was so handsome!

“Narcissa! Don’t daydream!” her mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts. 

Bella snickered, while Andy used the overall disturbance of chairs being moved and everybody getting to their feet to try and take Narcissa’s hand. Narcissa snatched it away. She knew that Andy meant well, but sometimes, Andy was too nice for Narcissa’s own good. It wouldn’t do to have Lucius watch her being consoled by her older sister. How Andy could deal with the arrogant poser on a daily basis at school was beyond Narcissa’s understanding. She sniffed, and turned away. 

“You need a handkerchief, Cissy?” asked Bella.

Narcissa flinched. She hated Bellatrix’s way of shortening her name. Even on the occasion that Andy called her “Narcissa” it had a much tender ring than any endearment Bellatrix could come up with.

She assumed her haughtiest pose and inclined her head towards her sister, imagining that she was about to dine with the Minister for Magic himself. “I’m fine, Bella, thank you.” 

“So, Cassiopeia, please, show us your newest roses,” Narcissa’s mother said.

Roses were Mrs Malfoy’s favourite pastime, and Druella Black knew how to be the most gracious of guests. After tea the party would usually take a stroll around the flower beds, admiring the latest breed of roses or some of the more exotic plants that Cassiopeia Malfoy liked to purchase from all over the world. Precise and locally bound magic kept them growing like they would in the Forbidden Forest, Fanghorn Wood, or their even older predecessors, the forests of Avalon and Albion. 

Narcissa, who found the usual collection of roses pretty but slightly boring, had always enjoyed the more exotic plants for the whiff of danger that came with them. Finally, she was allowed to get up and walk around, even though skipping and running were out of the question.

“I’ve acquired this new breed, here. See how the petals change their colour with the light?” Mrs Malfoy picked up a branch between two thorns and pulled it towards her guests, moving the delicate flowers in this and that direction.

They all admired the roses and assured their host how beautiful they were. Then, Narcissa’s mother spread out her delicate, peacock-feather-fan and fanned herself with energetic flashes of her wrist. 

Mrs Malfoy, ever the attentive hostess, picked up the hint. “Oh dear, I am wearing you out, am I not? I am so sorry, I tend to get carried away whenever I’m talking about my latest acquisitions. We should go back and I’ll send Dipsy for some iced ginger and lemon tea. And we shall have pumpkin juice for the children.”

Narcissa’s mother stopped her fanning for a moment. “That’s a lovely idea, thank you so much. I dare say you’re spoiling me and my girls on these visits.” She gave a little laugh.

Narcissa pouted. “Can’t we stay a little longer? It’s so nice and green out here.”

“Don’t fuss. The sun is killing me,” her mother said, looking along the path towards the manor.

This was better than a glare and Narcissa dared to give it another try.

“Can’t I join you later, mother? I want to look at the beautiful flowers for a little longer,” she added, throwing a beaming smile in the direction of Mrs Malfoy. “Mother? Mrs Malfoy? Please?”

Mrs Malfoy patted her on the arm. “Of course you can stay, sweet girl. That is, if your mother doesn’t mind!”

“All right, all right. But no more than half an hour. And don’t wander around too far. This garden is big enough to get lost in it. And we don’t want to trouble our hostess, you know that.”

“I’ll stay right here,” Narcissa hastened to promise. “And I will be right back with you in half an hour.”

Her mother nodded. “I expect nothing else of you.” 

Andy gave Narcissa a quick hug, something Bella commented on with a huff, while Mrs Malfoy watched their sisterly exchange with an indulgent smile.

“Your girls are lovely,” she said and laid a hand on the arm of Narcissa’s mother. “I will be happy to call one of them my daughter in a few more years.”

Narcissa felt like someone had cast _Petrificus_ on her. It was the spell her mother had used a few years back to stop her from fidgeting when listening to speeches at formal gatherings.

Mrs Malfoy raised her hand in a parting wave and walked towards the manor. The others followed her. Narcissa watched their retreating backs for a little while, glad that her sisters had decided to leave too. Then she turned abruptly on the spot. 

She stood in front of the newly acquired, sparkling roses. She could still hear the murmur of the women drifting towards her, but it quickly grew softer, giving way to the sliding of grass in the wind, the rustling of leaves. Finally, she was on her own.

“You aren’t really interested in the roses, are you?”

She swirled around.

Lucius stood facing her, a smirk plastered all over his face.

“You just pretended to like the roses to get rid of the rest of them, didn’t you?”

Narcissa swallowed. She didn’t trust him and didn’t like to be alone with him at all.

“What do you care?”

“Oh I should, shouldn’t I?” 

His voice was silky, his speech vibrant like the shimmer of the rose petals. 

“After all, you are my most _honoured_ guest, my little future wife.”

And like every rose, this one too, had its thorns.

“I’m not!”

“Aha, but you will be! And there’s nothing you can do about it.” His eyes narrowed. “No matter how prim and prissy you might act, one day I will mark you and hunt you and make you mine.”

“No!” She didn’t want him, ever, and yet she knew that he spoke the truth. He was going to be a man one day and he could do all of this, while she would be forced to smile and act like the perfect lady.

“Cissa, Cissy, stupid, little, prissy!” Lucius sing-songed. He danced a few steps ahead of her. Narcissa was ready to punch him, all resemblance of ladylike behaviour forgotten in a burst of helpless rage.

“You- you- you’re so ... nasty!” 

She wasn’t entirely satisfied with her choice of words and would have wanted something stronger to get her point across. But strong words were as much out of her reach as the confident boy who stuck out his tongue at her. 

“Nasty? That’s all you can come up with? Poor little girl, all prim and proper!”

“Well? I might be prim and proper, but you’re the one who should know better on how to treat your future wife!”

It had sounded more convincing when Bella had told off Rodolphus Lestrange with almost the same words last Christmas at another social gathering, but Narcissa could see that it had no effect on Lucius whatsoever. He was shaking with laughter.

“Aha! I could certainly do that, if you were a real lady, but you’re just a little girl. Look at you: you’ve not even started at Hogwarts yet!”

She could feel tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. It was so unfair. His birthday was in April – her mother made her write a card every year – and hers was in August. So, when one counted correctly, he was just sixteen months older than she was. But he made it sound like they were three years apart!

“I’m not going to be a little girl forever!” 

“And you’ve just admitted that you’re a little girl right now!” He almost doubled over with laughter, slapping his legs in a completely undignified manner. Under his refined appearance, he was nothing but a boor.

“I ... I hate you!” 

Narcissa turned around and stormed off into the park. Forgotten was the promise to her mother to stay in the vicinity of the roses. Lucius’s laughter trailed behind her; like Bella’s admonitions it only served to enrage her more. Narcissa ran until she couldn’t hear him any longer, until finally she stopped, drew in a deep breath and looked around.

She had never ventured this far into the garden. Here it was thick with brambles and branches, overgrown trees practically humming with fat leaves that hung low onto the garden path. Flowers shone brightly in the beds bellow, their velvety blossoms giving off a sweet and rich perfume that dominated the air. Narcissa drew in another deep breath and could almost taste the flowery nectar on her tongue. She had never smelled such a fruity sweetness, not even on the most delicious cakes. It made her mouth water and her head spin. She swallowed. And then, she heard the music.

It was faint, coming from somewhere to her left. Narcissa inclined her head and took a few more steps.

_“Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green,  
When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen.” _

_Dilly, dilly?_ Narcissa giggled. It sounded a little silly, and yet, there was a loveliness to it that resonated with the rich flowery scents around her.

_“Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?  
'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so.” _

The voice was young, definitely female. Who was she? The sound was too rich and dark to belong to a house-elf, but Narcissa was certain that the Malfoys, just like the Blacks, would never allow a Muggle gardener or his wife to tend to their household and gardens. This was simply not done and only served to indicate those who did as newly rich – a status the old families secretly frowned upon. Another witch then?

_“Call up your men, dilly, dilly, set them to work_  
Some with a rake, dilly, dilly, some with a fork.  
Some to make hay, dilly, dilly, some to thresh corn.” 

Working class. Narcissa felt her little nose twitch with disgust. It was ingrained, she couldn’t help it. But still, the voice was beautiful. And whoever the singer was, as an employee of the Malfoy household, however unusual, she wouldn’t dare harm Narcissa. She might even be able to show her the way back to the manor house.

Narcissa shaded her eyes with her hand and looked around once more. Without noticing it, she had walked further towards the voice. The shrubbery had thickened, still blooming with flowers of all kinds, and the path she walked on had grown narrow. But the volume of the voice had become louder, and now she needed no effort at all to understand the next words.

_“While you and I, dilly, dilly, keep ourselves warm._  
Lavender's green, dilly, dilly, Lavender's blue,  
If you love me, dilly, dilly, I will love you.” 

_Keep ourselves warm._ How silly those words were. Marriage was about forging alliances between the old pure-blood families, not about some frilly nonsense like love. 

Druella Black had repeated this lesson time and time again to her daughters. No matter how often Andy whispered secret stories she’d heard at school into Narcissa’s eagerly listening ears, about the right to love and to choose, those were not a part of the world they lived in. Those ideas were advocated by half-bloods and Muggle-borns, no doubt. And as long as her mother had a say about this, Narcissa’s world would be ruled by the witches and wizards on the Silver Edition of her Chocolate Frog Cards, who told young witches about proper behaviour and how to find a perfect husband. 

Marriage was about saying yes to an arrogant boy with a confident sneer on his face, if he had the right ancestry and your parents approved of his manners and social background. And if she did her part, her family would do their part and protect her through a carefully negotiated marriage contract.

“Silly,” she murmured, but she kept on walking all the same. Branches brushed her shoulders and her chest; leaves tangled in her hair. She held up her hands to push them away from her face. 

_“Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly, and the lambs play-“_

Was she falling for a trick in the air or did the voice suddenly sound a lot older? The bushes gave way to a tiny clearance, and, in the middle of it, there was a small tree. It was swaying a little, though Narcissa could feel no wind on her hot and sweaty face. The sun had crept behind a cloud, and she shivered slightly. 

_“We shall be safe, dilly, dilly, out of harm's way.”_

And still she couldn’t see the woman singing the song. The bodiless voice danced along the notes.

_“I love to dance, dilly, dilly, I love to sing;  
When I am queen, dilly, dilly, you'll be my king.” _

“Hello? Miss? Where are you?” 

Narcissa could hear the scratchiness in her own voice, breathless as if she had been running up a hill. She wasn’t sure how it was possible, but the temperature had fallen and kept doing so with every step she took towards the little tree. And with every step, the distance between the tree and her seemed to grow further, like she was walking through icy water instead of clear air. But still she trudged on, her eyes firmly fixed on her goal, too terrified to stop.

Laughter pearled from the tree, mingling with the last lines of the song.

_“Who told me so, dilly, dilly, who told me so?  
I told myself, dilly, dilly, I told me so.” _

Narcissa came to a halt under the tree. Seeing it closer by, it was huge. The grass in its shadow had a violet hue. The tree’s branches were wide, the leaves honey-gold with huge white blossoms, fluffy like candy floss on a stick, like the fresh coats of little lambs. They gave off a sugary smell and their sap was dripping all over the tree, down the branches and the stem, dripping directly from the blossoms and into Narcissa’s hair and onto her face. It didn’t sting, but it was sticky, covering her all over, dripping faster and faster.

She could feel it running down her neck and into her dress. She wanted to run, to get away from it, but her feet, icy cold in the sap-covered grass, refused to move.

 _“Silly, dilly, dilly,”_ laughed the voice. It sounded old now, older than the oldest trees. _“Silly Muggle girl. So romantic.”_

Narcissa wanted to shout _No, I’m not a Muggle, don’t you dare!_ But when she opened her mouth, the sap ran into it, so she spat out and firmly pressed her lips together. It ran into her eyes too, obscuring her view, no matter how hard she tried to wipe it away. A sob threatened to escape from her throat; she could hear herself panting, fighting against the terror that held her in place, and above all, the laughter, silvery and light and happy.

Insane.

Narcissa found her voice.

“No. Let me go! I’m _not_ a Muggle, I’m a pure-blood witch. I’ve got my Hogwarts letter, and you have to let me go!”

Laughter was all the answer she got, and, _“dilly, dilly, I told me so.”_

“Stop it, please!”

She forced another breath down her lungs, no matter how much it stung, how hard it had become to draw air from the cold, suffocating sweetness all around her.

“Please.”

Someone came crashing through the bushes, fast and wild. 

Images of trampled flowers flashed through Narcissa’s mind, but she couldn’t care less about the flowers, not now, when she was fighting to stay alive.

Hands on her shoulders, around her waist. Half carrying, half dragging her away. 

Laughter turned into shrieks, hisses, choked bits of song.

 _“The lambs play, dilly, dilly_ – out of harms way!”

Narcissa stumbled alongside her rescuer, her eyes still too obscured to see anything but the sunlit grass below her feet. Grass that regained its green, harmless shade. 

They finally came to a halt. Narcissa’s knees were trembling so hard that she had to sit down. She turned her head and blinked away the sap in her eyes. Her gaze fell upon the hand that rested on her arm.

She knew that hand. It had held a delicate cup this afternoon. Its owner had taunted her and made her feel unwelcome and ridiculed. Lucius.

She looked up, expecting to see his haughty sneer. Instead, he stood over her, his face drawn, watching her with a kind of anxious appreciation. 

“That was-” his words came in short, puffy breaths, “that was close. I never thought she would take a go at you.”

“What? You knew-”

He folded his arms in front of his chest. “Of course I knew! I live here, remember. This is my parents’ garden.”

“Did you plan this? Did you think this was a funny little joke?”

“Narcissa, I swear on my grandfather’s grave, I didn’t.” He dropped to his knees at her side, locking eyes with her. “You have to believe me.”

She laughed, a sound that seemed to emerge from deep inside her body, like a hidden curse. “I ha- I ha-have ...”

Lucius paled. “Narcissa-“

She laughed again. Every single sound hiccupped its way out of her chest, until her stomach hurt from exhaustion and tears were running down her face and she wasn’t sure any longer if she was laughing or crying. “I don’t ... have to ... any- anything. You- you- you-“

“I didn’t plan this.” Lucius took her hand, sticky with sap. He waited for a little while, watching her. “But I’m still sorry.” 

His confession was sobering. Narcissa pressed the back of her other hand at her mouth, stifling the last sobs of hysterical laughter until they subsided. Finally she was able to breathe properly. 

But she wasn’t willing to let him go without questioning.

“And what, if you please, is this thing over there? It almost killed me!”

“It ...” he paused for a moment, considering his answer, “the tree ... it’s haunted.”

“This I gathered. Plants don’t usually sing and try to choke people with their sap, you know?” Her anger had returned in a heartbeat, and holding on to it was all that kept Narcissa from screaming. “Who is she?”

Lucius quickly looked over his shoulder, scanning the dark outline of the trees. “It happened more than two hundred years ago. She was a witch. A family member. Calliope Malfoy. She found her fiancé consorting with a Muggle maid. Under her very own favourite tree. She killed the woman.” 

“Consorting with-? You mean he ...?”

“Yes.” Lucius nodded, with a ghost of his haughty sneer on his lips. “She killed this Muggle, and when her fiancé found his dead lover, he cursed Calliope. As the tale goes, he told her that she had never loved him more than her trees and bushes. Then he killed himself. Needless to say, his name was banned from the family register.”

Narcissa found herself nodding, too. “Oh,” she whispered, “I see.”

“She soon followed him to the grave and was buried under her tree. A few months later, her parents discovered that two of the Muggle maids had disappeared. When they made their daily visit to the tree and found the bodies of the two girls caught up in its branches, they knew where her daughter had taken refuge. They didn’t have the heart to uproot the tree, but instead decided to dismiss their Muggle maids and gardeners and to rely on house-elves alone.”

“She thought I was a Muggle.”

“She didn’t. Not really. You followed the song. She only sings Muggle songs. And she’s been dead for such a long time. She’s old. Confused.”

“She’s mad.”

“She is.” 

Narcissa sat up a little straighter. “And your family ... they never considered ...” 

“Uprooting her? No. Like I said, Calliope is family. There have been occasional accidents from time to time. Troublesome, but you can’t keep away the over-curious. Every year around the time of Calliope’s death, the songs manage to penetrate even the best Unplottable and distractive spells combined. But they are just Muggles, after all.” Lucius shrugged. “Nothing much to miss. We simply have to _Obliviate_ their relatives and make them forget, don’t we?” 

She nodded. “I guess so.” 

Muggles. She had never met one in her life. They must be really, really strange. Narcissa had to suppress a shiver. 

“We should go back to the house. That is, before they send a search party.” He considered her for a moment. “But we’ve got to clean you up before.”

She looked down at herself. There were grass stains on her dress, she was covered all over in the sap of Calliope’s tree, and her hair was a tangled mess of knots. There was no way she would be able to hide what had happened. Her mother would be in hysterics by now from the wait alone. 

She patted her dress. “I-“

“Let me,” interrupted Lucius. 

She attacked on pure reflex. “Afraid that they’ll find you out, aren’t you?”

“Let me,” he repeated.

What good would it do to worry her mother about her appearance? Narcissa nodded, Lucius lifted his wand, and she felt the prickle of _Scourgify_ rush over her skin. Lucius looked at her, frowned, and repeated the spell on her dress. Even the grass stains were gone, which left only her hair to deal with. She started to untangle the knots, feeling for small twigs and leaves.

“May I?” Lucius lifted a hand towards her head.

She allowed his touch. “That tree – it’s really dangerous.”

His hands kept combing her hair. She could feel them firm and sure against her skull. The warmth of his breath puffed over the shell of her ear.

“It is. I’d almost thought I’d lost you to her.”

His hand faltered for a moment; then he resumed his grooming as if nothing had happened.

Narcissa allowed herself to relax. This was the first time she accepted help from someone other than her parents or sisters, the first time she needed somebody outside her family to take care of her. That it was Lucius made the experience sharper, more significant than if he had been nice to her all along. If their mothers could see them now, they would get it all wrong – almost like she and Lucius were close.

He was done.

Narcissa patted her head. The twigs were gone. “My hair is still a mess.”

“I know a spell or two for that too.” He waved his wand again, and Narcissa felt the strands of her hair twist and twirl back into an orderly braid. 

Of course he would know, with his own hair reaching down to his shoulders. Narcissa found that she was smiling at him, and felt a funny twinge in her stomach when he smiled back.

Lucius stood up, and helped her to her feet. “Let’s go back now. I’ll explain it all to your mother. She’ll be glad that nothing worse has happened than you getting lost in the garden, believe me. It’s only good that I found you and brought you back.”

Mischief tingled between them, the warmth of a shared adventure. 

A grin broke out on his face. “I’ll race you to the house! You’re fast, so I won’t give you a head-start. But I’m going to win anyway. Ready? One – two – three!”

And he started to run.

Narcissa stood, laughing.

“Come _on_! I’ll tell all kinds of things to your mother!”

“You won’t! You wouldn’t dare.”

“Ha! You wait and see!”

And she chased after him.

 

Years later, after the war and the humiliation brought onto them by the Dark Lord, after the trials had been held and the family fortune had been stripped for reparations, after Lucius had returned from serving his time in Azkaban – years later, with Lucius’s hands shaking against hers and his eyes wearing that haunted look that would never leave him completely, Narcissa would see how on this day, in the depth of the garden, a secret knowledge had been planted inside her. A knowledge that was powerful and old, ingrained in every woman, though they rarely spoke about it. A knowledge which, once awakened, could never be put back to sleep. 

And in all those years between now and then, she would learn about care masked as confidence and about love hidden behind marriage contracts and pledges of duty. She would learn about loyalty and family, and what made a woman stand by her husband no matter what. 

 

But right now, trotting back towards the manor in Lucius’s wake and laughing so hard that she almost couldn’t keep up, all she knew was that the full answers to those riddles and secrets of being a woman were still a few years ahead of her. She still had time. But then again, marriage might be about more than family alliances, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for peskywhistpaw and first posted at springtime_gen. 
> 
> Thanks to my f-list for the most helpful discussion about nursery rhymes in English. The song I chose, _Lavender’s Green_ , is an English folk song from the 17th century. Many versions exist, the one I used is the one I found on Wikipedia. 
> 
> I thank kennahijja, symetric and tomatoe18 for their sharp eyes, helpful suggestions and detailed explanations, and for making me laugh so much about their witty comments.


End file.
